I yearn for your soft lips on mine,
As you send shivers down my spine.
With your breath, a nip in my skin,
You fill me with rapture, within,
My love, come home, I croon.
Your cohorts, they clap, in consent,
As on my bosoms, you descend,
And caress my curves, tease my core,
Drench me with fervour, and some more,
My love, come soft, I moan.
I sigh… Parched, barren, there you lie,
Beneath the ruthless summer sky,
Worn, frayed, and yet with divine grace,
Waiting for my touch on your face,
My love, come I have, home.
As I pour, in your flaws and chinks,
You blush green, and gush o’er your brinks,
And ooze the scent of ardour, wild,
The petrichor, heady, but mild.
My love, come, let’s make love.
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